


I'll Be Home For Christmas

by Burning_Up_A_Sun



Series: You Found Me [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Draco is a reporter for Wizarding BBC, Draco needs a favor, Harry's left the wizarding world, Homelessness, Just a little angst, M/M, Time line altered
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-15
Updated: 2015-08-15
Packaged: 2018-04-25 08:34:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4953556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Burning_Up_A_Sun/pseuds/Burning_Up_A_Sun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>5 years after the fall of Voldemort, Harry has left the Wizarding World for the anonymity of living around Muggles. On cold nights, he takes blankets to homeless kids living on the streets. One of the teenagers is not a teen and not a stranger. Draco needs a favor--will Harry listen?</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'll Be Home For Christmas

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for the Fall 2015 Drizzlefest. Prompt: London is suffering the coldest winter in years. While Harry is volunteering helping homeless people, he finds Draco again.
> 
> I've mucked with the time line. please forgive me. Also, let's pretend that Wizarding BBC is a thing, and that Sandi Toksvig is a witch.
> 
> Also, if you've read any of my HP/DM fics, this is the 1st one.

The kids huddled together in the alleyway shivering as the snow fell on their heads and shoulders. When the car’s headlights slid over them, the knot of teenagers pulled tighter, hoping they might look like trash left out and covered in snow, rather than homeless, helpless kids pretending this was an okay way to live.

“Is that the¬ coppers?” the new kid asked, shivering harder than the others. He was still raw, untested, his first freezing night with snow. Still a virgin, then. If he was alive tomorrow after this snow, they’d tell him he popped his cherry.

One kid--the one who’d been on the street the longest—twisted to the left. With her dark clothes and dirty face, it wasn’t likely she’d stand out in the glare of the headlight. Squinting to see that far (“I didn’t need no fuckin’ glasses anyway.”), she said, “Nah. We’re safe tonight. Bein’ it’s Christmas Eve an all. Even if they was lookin for trouble it wouldn't be us. We ain't doin’ nothin bad."

“Coppers?” another laughed. The laughter warmed their hands, having long ago traded away their gloves for something more important. “What are you? From some fucking old movie?” They looked at the new kid side-eyed. “You ain’t an adult, are you?”

“Fuck off,” the new kid said, curling in as small as possible.

Long-Timer watched the new kid shiver, not sure he’d live til morning. They found him a couple days ago, an’ he just stared, like he was darin’ them to ask. Sneering but, like, afraid at the same time. The funny thing was, for all his I'm a street rat, he was too public school, some posh wanker, even with his overall stink and ugh, nasty, find a fuckin’ toothbrush, mate.

The whispers slipped down the tangle of kids. _Just a bloke with blankets._

_A do-gooder._

_Are we safe?_

“I’m right here, you know,” the do-gooder said, the snow landing on the lenses of his round glasses. He handed out woolen blankets along with hand-knit mittens and lumpy knitted hats. “I just figured you might need blankets tonight.” He returned to his car for supplies for the last two kids.

“Got any food, mate?” Long-Timer asked. “Bein’ it’s Christmas Eve an all.” Her stomach growled loud enough for the man to hear, and she didn’t want to ignore it again.

The man shook his head and offered her an apologetic half-smile. “I wish I did.”

The new kid reached out for a blanket with his filthy hand. “Fuckin’ Gamp and his exceptions, huh?”

“Yeah, Hermione always says that, too,” Harry answered, distracted as he rummaged through his hold-all for gloves that would fit this kid’s hands.

The kid wrapped his grimy fingers around Harry’s wrist, pulling him down face to face. “I knew it was you. Would be you.”

Harry recognized the blue eyes that had haunted his dreams at Hogwarts for six years. He knew the white blonde hair would be under the ski cap, no matter how greasy or glamoured. He pulled away and stepped back as quickly as he could, his eyes wide with surprise.

“It’s too cold out tonight.” Harry ducked his head as he walked toward his anonymous black sedan. He refused to look back at the kids, now wrapped in their blankets that were still warm from the heated seats in the car. “All the churches will be open. Go find shelter,” he called over his shoulder before he closed his car door, leaving the kids behind. He couldn’t do more, and now, Draco Malfoy insured that.

“For fuck’s sake, Potter. Stop!”

Harry gasped, his heart racing at the shout coming from inside his car, where he was supposed to be alone. He slammed on the brakes, the car fishtailing on the snow-slick street.

“How did you get in here, and get the fuck out because you¬--” Harry stopped before he could say “you reek,” because Draco didn’t reek. He didn’t look anything like he had five minutes ago; instead of living on the street, he looked like a fashion advertisement in his tailored clothing and carelessly-coiffed hair.

“In your rush to leave, you forgot to put the car’s wards back up.” Draco slipped his wand from the pocket of his warm overcoat and traced the outline of the car’s interior looking for residual signs of magic. “Bold move, Potter. No wards on the car.” He nodded and smirked in admiration. “I guess, living as a Muggle for the past five years, you wouldn’t need them.”

Harry stared through the tiny dots flying at his windshield as the car crawled up the street through the snow. _Big flakes, little snow. Little flakes, big snow._ How many times had he heard Molly Weasley say that over the years? If she were right, this storm would be a doozy. He clutched the steering wheel, his knuckles white with the pressure, as he looked for a place to pull over.

“Probably never occurred to you someone would apparate into your car,” Malfoy said thoughtfully and then laughed. “Really never occurred to you it would be me!”

Grateful the streets were empty, Harry pulled over into a stretch of parking spots. His tires lost traction and skidded toward the kerb, but Draco threw a sticking charm that held the car in place instead of ruining the tires or worse.

“It never occurred to me that _anyone_ would try to find me.”

Draco laughed at Harry’s modesty, almost-mocking him until he realized Harry was serious. “You’re still hot news, Potter. Or should I call you _The Boy Who Lived._ Unless you prefer _The Chosen One_?”

“I’m just Harry. It’s all I ever was.” He dropped his head to his knuckles, still gripping the steering wheel. “What do you want,” he said, looking down. “What’s the cost to forget you found me?”

Draco took the blanket that Harry had offered the homeless new kid and placed it carefully on the backseat. “The cost, as you so crassly put it, is to allow me to buy you a cup of tea or eggnog, bein’ how it’s Christmas Eve and all.”

Dammit, he cursed himself silently. He’d only hung around that girl for five days; he picked up her awful speech tics. He made a mental note to strike that from his vocabulary.

Harry put the car into drive, and without looking to Draco asked, “Is there any other option?”

“Nope,” Draco said, popping the ‘p’ for dramatic effect. He pulled the sleeves of his cashmere jumper over his palms and waited in silence until Harry found a coffee shop that had kindly stayed open for the employees of the nearby hospital.

Harry parked on the near-empty street and walked to the shop without checking if Draco were following. Of course he was following.

“You’ve a little dirt still there, under your ear,” Harry pointed out, as he held the door open for Malfoy. He tried not to smile too much at Draco’s embarrassment.

Draco flipped him off as they waited for the non-existent hostess to seat them. Giving up, they seated themselves in a booth at the back of the narrow coffee shop.

“You look good, Potter. Harry,” Draco slowed himself down, not wanting to crowd Harry, to scare him away. “The Muggle years agreed with you.”

Harry searched every word for offense, but found none. “I live a boring life here. My neighbors think I’m just a bloke with no job and too many blankets. The quiet guy who never bothers anyone. No music or telly til all hours. No one tramping in and out.”

He closed his mouth, lips thin in silence. He’d revealed too much about how lonely his life was as a Muggle. “Out here I’m not _The Boy Who Lived_. No one wants anything from me. No one expects anything from me. Can you understand the pressure of my name?”

The waitress, with her furry red Santa hat and bells on her trainers, jingled up to their table with tea they never ordered. “It’s on us, but in 10 minutes, we’re closing.” She smiled at Draco, handsome in his sky-blue jumper. “Maybe you and the lad can get some cheeky Nandos.”

“What?” Draco asked after her, but she just laughed as she walked into the kitchen.

“She thinks we’re a couple.” Harry rolled his eye and pulled at the collar of his turtleneck, which seemed too tight and very hot right now.

“A couple of what?” Draco asked before he’d thought it through. He laughed out loud, thrilled at Harry’s obvious discomfort. “People have assumed we were a couple since we were 11. For Merlin’s sake, I didn’t even know I was gay then.”

Harry choked on his tea. Malfoy was gay? “Does your father know? Lucius must be having a fit, Malfoy-heir and all.”

Draco sat up, his back rigid against the booth’s cracked, pleather seats. “Since he’s been in Azkaban for the illegal things he’s done, and as I am not actually guilty of doing anything illegal by being gay, I don’t give a fuck what he thinks.”

Draco glared at Harry, daring him to say something. “That man lost any say in my life when he let¬ Vol--” Draco stuttered as he said the name. “When he allowed Voldemort to use our house. When he allowed him to do this to me--”

He pulled up his sleeve for a second, only long enough for Harry to see part of the tattooed Dark Mark. “So, yeah,” he finished, his anger losing steam when he realized Harry wasn’t arguing or laughing. “I know a little something about the pressure names carry.”

Draco played with his teaspoon, tapping it against the table. He wasn’t really angry with Harry for asking, as much as he was with himself, for it still mattering after all these years.

Harry watched Draco. This Draco. Not manipulated by evil. Not bullied by a father. Not toadied to by mindless flunkies.

“We’re not who we were, Harry,” Draco said quietly as he looked at Harry. “I’ve changed. I’m sure you have, too.”

Harry watched Draco spoon sugar into his tea, his forehead wrinkled in thought. Draco’d lost some of the sharp angles on his face, except for his cheekbones. The few extra pounds looked good on him and he wore his bespoke clothes well. Harry had definitely noticed as Draco walked ahead of Harry into the coffee shop w/ no overcoat to obscure his arse.

“I guess that’s one good thing about not having parents,” Harry said, trying to lighten the mood. “I didn’t have to tell them I’m gay. But, well, you can imagine how Ron reacted when he found out.”

“Merlin, I bet he went so white, you could see every Weasley freckle on his face,” Draco laughed, picturing polka-dotted Ron.

“At least Hermione was there to grab him when he almost fell over!” Harry laughed too, remembering Ron stammering. “He kept saying, _it’s no problem. It’s no problem._ I finally said, _I know. Do you?_ ”

When their laughter tailed off, Draco took a deep breath and slowly released it. His eyes were bright as he fussed with the empty sugar packets on the table, stacking them so all the edges aligned. Draco launched into his well-practiced spiel, speaking so quickly it was as if he were afraid of forgetting what came next.

“Here's the thing, Potter. I’ve worked at WBBC radio for 3 years. They give me all the crap assignments because my name is Malfoy. Making copies. Stapling. Filing. If I'm lucky they let me do some background research.” Draco rolled his eyes and air-quoted most of the words. Harry had no question how Draco felt about his job.

Harry laughed behind his mug. He liked this cranky, put-upon Draco.

“So, long story short, Goyle’s niece wound up living rough with a group of Muggle kids. Talked about a bloke who brought blankets. She figured he was a wizard because his car fit so much stuff. Blankets. Sweaters. He even offered to drive them to a shelter, which,” Draco rolled his eyes and shook his head, “you really shouldn’t do. They thought you were going to pimp them out.”

Harry cheeks colored. He’d realized that _after_ they’d called him foul names beginning with paedophile.

“When I heard that, I knew it was you. Who else would do something so unassuming and selfless? So, I formed a plan. When I could, I took days off and lived on the streets, waiting. This time it was 5 straight days and nights. Next time I’m stalking you, Potter, would you please be more prompt?”

Draco smiled a brash _I know you’re going to help me_ grin. The only thing missing was a cheeky wink.

Harry felt a stabbing pain in his belly. Bile rising in his throat. An overwhelming urge to flee. The pressure of being Harry Potter.

“Sorry, mates. Closing time. You don’t have to go home but you can’t stay here.” With a cheery Happy Christmas, she opened the shop door in case they missed they were being thrown out.

As they walked out single file, Draco weighed whether to ask Harry; he’d seen the change, the laughter going out of Harry’s eyes as soon as he’d realized Draco had been looking for him. The waitress almost hit Draco in the arse with the door as she closed and locked it.

Draco jumped, but the toe of his shoe hit an icy patch and he fell forward. He grabbed at air, shrieking until Harry caught him. Draco clung around Harry’s neck, his heart racing.

“Sweet Merlin, a man could kill himself out here!”

Harry’s cheek felt warm from Draco’s breath, melodramatically labored from his almost spill. Draco held on, afraid if he moved he would slide and fall. Harry didn’t know what to do. It was awkward, being clung to by your sworn nemesis. But his sworn nemesis smelled nice. Harry leaned in just enough; Draco’s aftershave reminded him of cinnamon and oranges. Harry inhaled quietly.

“Potter, did you just sniff me?” Draco meant to sound horrified, but he couldn’t keep his laughter out of his shock. Harry’s cheeks were fully red, and he didn’t answer.

When he caught his breath, Draco plunged in. “A writer’s job opened up on the Wizard News Quiz, and I really want it. If I could show them my skill, I think I’d have a good shot at the job. Would—would you let me interview you for Radio4? I’ll just ask you why you left, and what you’ve been doing. You can talk about homeless kids and blankets. It will be great publicity for you. _The Boy Who Lived Now Lives For Others_.” Draco scrolled the imaginary headline in the frigid air. “What do you think?”

That smile appeared again, like Draco was trying to convince Harry through sheer will. Like a Jedi mind trick, Harry thought. He wanted to say to Draco, “This is not the man you’re looking for.”

For a fleeting moment there in the frigid air of the sidewalk, Harry thought about form-fitting trousers and cinnamon-citrus after shave, about how nice Draco felt against him, even if it were on accident. About being the man Draco was looking for. Or that he himself was looking for. That thought startled Harry more than the others. Maybe Draco Malfoy had never been the sworn nemesis Harry pretended he was. Handsome. Fit. Funny. When did that all happen?

If he agreed to the interview, he could spend time learning who Draco was now. Who he'd become. But the thought of re-entering wizard society this way, the subject of a radio or TV interview¬--

Harry’s stomach clenched in panic. "No."

"No?" Draco’s face fell, and he sighed softly in defeat. “I understand. It was a long shot anyway. I guess we have too much history between us for me to ask for a favor.” He reached into his coat's inside pocket and withdrew a business card. He slipped it across the table to Harry, who stared at it but left it on the table.

He stuck his hand out, which seemed oddly formal. "Well, Potter. It was good to see you again."

Harry hesitated but shook Draco’s hand. He wanted to say he'd been alone too long and didn't think he could be that person again. That he was Just Harry and not any one worth interviewing. When he opened his mouth, all that came out was, "You too." He wished it had been one of the other thoughts that swirled in his brain, like _when did you get so good looking_ or _go out with me_.

Draco headed down the slick pavement, already more than six inches of snow on the ground. He waved without looking back, and with a twist Draco disapparated to Harry-didn’t-know-where.

Harry watched him go. He stood staring, hoping Draco would come back and maybe ask again. But he didn’t. Harry sighed, and with his first step toward his car, his foot slid on black ice and he windmilled to the pavement, landing hard on his left hip and hand. Pain shot up his arm as he tried to steady himself to stand; ¬¬this was turning out to be some Christmas Eve, he thought with a grimace.

~~~

He limped from his car to the front door of his flat’s building. His hip ached but he suspected he’d done no real damage. His flat was dark; maybe he should have taken time to decorate. Put up fairy lights at least. Maybe a small tree. As he waited for his soup to heat in the microwave, he flexed his elbow and moved his wrist. Sore, but fine.

Harry dug his wizard wireless out of the storage closet, hidden deep to avoid any temptation to be drawn back to that world. He dusted it off. Although it hadn’t been used in five years, it worked perfectly, and Harry found the Celestina Warbeck Holiday special he knew would be on.

He ate the soup without paying attention, lost in thought of Christmas Eves at the Burrow, listening to Celestina Warbeck, who was Molly’s favorite. Harry remembered the delicious food. Perfectly cooked crown roasts with the curled paper panties. Heaping bowls of mashed potatoes and the last vegetables straight from Molly’s garden. Better than this stupid soup.

Harry’s spoon scraped the bottom of the bowl; he looked at it, shocked to find he’d finished the soup. Stupid soup didn’t even taste good. He took the bowl to the sink, and while he waited for his tea kettle to boil, Harry thought about Draco. Going through all that to ask for a favor. He’d said no, without actually thinking it over. No, based on what he remembered.

But if there were one thing Harry knew, bad memories had a way of growing out of control, wrapping around a body and slowly, slowly squeezing the air and the life out of a person. Out of him. And sometimes, they felt like a migraine or a knife in the gut.

Bad memories made it too easy to live alone in his one room flat, telling himself it was enough or that taking blankets to kids on the streets was all he needed in his life. For the first time since he walked away, he allowed himself to feel the ache of his loneliness.

_"I've changed, and I'm sure you have, too. We’re not who we were then, Harry,”_ Draco had said.

Before he could change his mind, Harry twisted on the spot and within moments stood outside The Burrow, more inviting with its warmth and noise than Harry's own flat had ever been. He stood still and let it wash over him. Ron's raised voice arguing with someone who was laughing. The garden over-decorated with fairy lights and gaudy ornaments. Harry’s smile grew slowly as he took in all that was The Burrow. Home.

The Weasleys welcomed Harry with shouts and cheers, hugs and slaps on the back. _"Welcome back!"_ they all said in one form or another. 

"Now that we're all here, the real party can start," Molly said, smiling wide. 

"Glad you're here, mate," Ron grabbed Harry into a hug. “It’s been too long.” Then, in a stage whisper he said, “Did you come to rescue me from Hermione? She’s gone mental with this baby stuff.”

Hermione pushed Ron out of the way to hug Harry, her belly too big to get close. Harry asked permission and then kissed her stomach, whispering Christmas wishes to baby Rose.

Home.

Ron led Harry to the punch bowl filled with eggnog. “What changed your mind--not that I'm not chuffed you're here because I am. But--" The question hung between them for Harry to answer or ignore.

Harry took a sip of his eggnog and coughed. Someone had taken great pleasure in spiking it. "Malfoy found me tonight--"

Ron snorted, his old bitterness flowing without thought.

Harry held his hand up to stop Ron. “He's not who he was. None of us are. Did you expect to be wealthy and running Wizard Wheezes? Or for Hermione to willingly put her career on hold to become a mom?"

Ron’s silence was Harry's answer.

"He asked for a favor," Harry said, watching his cup intently.

"Did he ask you for a...date?" Ron stuttered. “I don’t want details.” The red flush on Ron's pale skin, from his throat to his ears, made that obvious.

"No," Harry said, laughing. "But he did look good."

"Who?" Ginny asked, winding tinsel garland around Harry’s head. She pecked his cheek. "If there's a good-looking guy, let me at him!" She smiled easily, the good cheer and eggnog lighting her eyes.

"Malf--OW," Ron answered as Harry stomped on his foot. So much for secrecy.

Ginny nodded in thought, looking at Harry with a raised eyebrow. "You had a serious thing for him at Hogwarts."

"Oh, Merlin, yes,” Ron agreed.

Ginny pushed it, taking the piss out of Harry. “Malfoy this. Malfoy that. Bloody git was the only thing you ever talked about. We should’ve pushed them together then.” She laughed at Harry, who tried to slink away before any of them could see him blushing.

"Maybe we would’ve had a peaceful meal," Ron laughed, slapping Harry’s back. Harry gave up trying to hide his embarrassment.

"When?" Hermione asked, coming up behind them. As the story began again, Harry ducked away to find Molly.

"I'm glad you came," Molly said, crushing him in a hug. “I hoped you would.” She held Harry at arms’ length and appraised the changes in him. Silently deciding he was too thin, Molly prepared a plate of desserts for him. Her salt and ginger hair curled around her face

Home. This was home. Not some flat far away from people he loved.

“Do you believe in fate?” Harry asked Molly. He wouldn’t look at her, thinking she might laugh, but Molly lifted his chin until she could see his eyes.

“I believe we are sent what we need when we need it.” She bustled around the kitchen, starting tea, slicing cakes. “When Ron was off to Hogwarts, he worried terribly about how he’d be treated. He’d always been someone’s little brother. But you found him. You were his friend. And he was yours.” The way Molly said friend it sounded like the most precious thing in the world.

Harry thought of those two gawky, 11 year old boys who didn’t know anything. He couldn’t believe Ron had been worried. Had Draco also worried about being accepted and Harry had taken it as imperious and entitled? _Nah_ , Harry thought, _he was just a dick. A good looking one though,_ his mind added.

“So, yes,” Molly finished, watching Harry who was deep in thought. “Sometimes we’re sent the exact person we need.”

“Yes, maybe we are.” Harry wrapped his arms her. “I love you. I know my mum is grateful that you’re my Mum here.” Harry kissed her cheek and hugged her until George pulled him away to join the traditional impromptu Quidditch game. They wouldn’t let something like snow stop them.

“Go along, dear,” Molly said, her chin quivering. “Enjoy yourself.” She dabbed at her eyes with her handkerchief.

By the time Harry returned to his own bed in the early hours of Christmas Day, his stomach was full from a second round of desserts, and his body was pleasantly exhausted from all the play. Just before he fell asleep, he thought, “Maybe it would be okay to go home. To my old friends. And make new ones.”

~~~

Just after noon on Christmas Day, Harry apparated to Diagon Alley and walked the length of the street toward the WBBC offices, located next to Gringott’s. The crisp, icy air froze Harry's nose, and he huffed his breath to see it puff around him.

The crunch of the snow provided a soundtrack to his thoughts, revising the speech he would make to Malfoy. Before he realized, Harry stood in front of WBBC, watching the two statues of lions prowl either side of the doorway. One held a lamb between its teeth, the other a balanced scale.

They represented the WBBC's philosophy of careful, balanced coverage. But as he opened the doorway to the foyer, he couldn't help thinking they were neither balanced nor careful with Malfoy. And how would they treat him?

Harry stepped into the reception area, wanting only to warm his hands in front of the blazing fire. His fingers were stiff from the cold; with all of the gloves he gave away, Harry didn’t own a pair himself.

"Welcome to the Wizard BBC and Happy Holidays," the receptionist said by rote. Her tone said _I'd rather be home with my family._

Harry waited.

He waited for the squeal of recognition. The excited hand pumping. He steeled himself for fawning.

"Sir? Is there something I can help you with?" A hint of irritation crept into the woman’s voice.

She didn’t recognize him? He wasn't disappointed—just surprised. And rather than the panic he’d expected to endure, he felt almost giddy.

Harry cleared his throat. "Mr. Harry Potter to see Draco Malfoy. I have an interview scheduled."

Harry thought it’d be impossible for a human to look more bored than this receptionist.

She touched her wand to the computer monitor. "I don't see one listed. Also, Mr. Malfoy isn't scheduled to come in til tonight."

She raised an eyebrow and looked at Harry for an explanation. Harry fidgeted on the spot, and when he couldn’t think of anything else, he wiggled his finger at the computer monitor. “Could you tell him I’m here?”

With another tap of her wand, the personnel schedule changed to an image of a fireplace. She tapped the flames and said, “WBBC calling for Mr. Draco Malfoy.” The receptionist turned the monitor away from Harry, and he couldn’t hear any response.

“Yes, I do understand. However, a Mr. Potter is here for his interview--” The receptionist kept her voice civil, though she spoke through clenched teeth. She turned to Harry in surprise and said, “He hung up on me!”

Before she could say anything further, the ornate fireplace roared to life and Draco scrambled out, turkey leg in one hand and a cloth napkin in the other.

“I didn’t realize!” Draco stuttered, extending his hand to shake Harry’s.

When Harry bit his lips not to laugh, Draco held his temper¬—then he followed Harry’s eyes down to their hands. Merlin’s saggy balls, he’d offered Harry the hand holding the turkey leg. Draco squeaked in embarrassment and thrust the turkey leg and napkin at the receptionist, who took them in appalled silence. With a second thought, Draco grabbed the napkin from her hand, scrubbed his mouth and hands, and then dropped it back on her desk before turning to Harry.

“Thank you so much for being prompt,” Draco said in an attempt to continue the illusion that this had all been planned. “I apologize for my dreadful tardiness.” His stomach swirled as it fought supper and nerves. Word of Harry Potter in the building would spread quickly and Draco needed to look better than good when the gossip started.

“Nonsense. Thank you for requesting an interview. You took a risk contacting me, and I appreciate your—professionalism.” Harry smiled at Draco. He’d figured out the tactic and wanted to help.

Draco grimaced at the overkill, but Harry laughed at that, too. It was Christmas—time for joy. Draco tried to remain controlled and serious, but Harry’s giggle broke him. He pulled Harry around the corner to protect whatever dignity remained.

Once they were hidden from the receptionist, Draco gasped out a laugh, covering his mouth to remain as quiet as he could. “You took a risk,” he said, mimicking Harry’s tone.

“You handed me a turkey leg!” His laughter fed off Draco’s, who was doubled over and trying to breathe.

When Draco stood up, wiping tears from his eyes, he said, “Do you think we can be serious enough now for an interview?” He smiled; not his Jedi mind-trick grin designed to manipulate, but a genuine one, growing from half-quirk to full on dimples and eye crinkles.

“You have a great smile,” Harry blurted, reaching for Draco before remembering how wildly inappropriate that would be.

Embarrassment flushed Draco’s cheeks, but his smile didn’t fade. “Come along, Mr. Potter. The sooner we start, the sooner you can return to your Christmas Day festivities.”

“Oh, I don’t have any plans,” Harry answered. Oh sweet Merlin, that sounded terrible, like he was fishing for an invitation. “I mean…”

Draco either hadn’t heard or chose to ignore Harry’s words. He opened the door to one of the unused recording studios and showed Harry where to sit.

“I’ll ask you easy questions. Nothing unexpected. Nothing embarrassing,” Draco reassured him. “Let’s see where the answers take us. And if it sucks, there’s always the editing room.”

“If it sucks?” Harry’s eyebrows rose to his hairline in mock offense before his laughter burst from him.

Turned out, Draco was a great interviewer. He was funny and punny, well-versed in news and politics. And Harry Potter.

Draco kept his questions to the theme, a wizard in a Muggle world. When Harry’s answers referred to the past, Draco listened carefully to the tone as well as the words, to determine if he could follow up. They talked about living rough and the effect of poverty on society.

When Draco wrapped up the interview, Harry seemed puzzled. “We just started,” Harry said. “You don’t have to cut it short.”

Draco smiled at Harry, which made his heart stutter. “Potter, we talked for an hour. I have enough soundbites for a year.”

Harry laughed at himself and shrugged. “You’re easy to talk to.” When Draco blushed again, Harry said, “You’re good at this. They’d be stupid not to give you the News Quiz job.”

“Let’s see what my bosses think.” Draco’s eyes shone, but he knew Harry was right. This interview was great. Perfect. This would definitely help him win the job.

Draco shook Harry’s hand. “I’ll owl you to let you know when it will air,” Draco said. Then his heart hit the pit of his stomach. Between plotting how to find Potter and then hoping he would change his mind, Draco’d spent weeks thinking about him. Now that it was done, no more Potter. “Um, but, uh, I may need to contact you, y’know, to come back in to fill in some answers.”

Harry realized that he still held Draco’s hand. And that he didn’t really want to let go.

“You do realize,” Draco said, definitely not looking at their hands, “that you’ve just outed yourself to the Wizard community.”

Harry frowned. “Outed myself?”

“It’ll be the first time in 5 years people will be hearing from you. Everyone will be all over you.” Shite. Draco scrubbed his eyes. What had he brought down on Harry?

Harry finally released Draco’s hand. His felt empty, cold now. He pulled at his jumper’s cuffs to replace the missing warmth. “When I left, it was because I couldn’t handle it. I didn’t know how to handle it. The death and devastation, but also, the loss of purpose. For 7 years I knew what I had to do, without question or choice. But then, when it was finally finished, I wasn’t prepared for the void in my life. And I ran scared.”

Harry stared at Draco’s fingers, curled tight into fists. He reached out, hesitated, and decided. Harry took Draco’s right hand and slowly unfurled each finger as he spoke. “Listen, Malfoy. Don’t take this the wrong way, but you really helped me last night.” Draco snorted at the back-handed compliment. Harry smiled again, sweet and a hint of promise.

“You said we’ve all changed. I wanted to laugh because what the fuck do you know. Then I realized, you of all people do know. And when I pulled my head out of my arse, I also knew you were right. I have changed. It turns out, handing out blankets is kind of therapy. Each one I handed out was for Fred Weasley, or Professor Lupin, or Vincent Crabbe.”

Draco laid his other hand atop Harry’s, cradling Harry’s strong hand in his.

“You were right. So I tested my new theory—that I am strong enough to return—and I did something I haven’t done since I left. I went to The Burrow.”

Draco gasped, melodramatically. “Ugh, why?” Harry snorted, and Draco backtracked. “I mean, Oh. Well. That must have been nice.”

Harry’s belly laugh startled Draco, who’d been afraid he’d gone too far.

“Seeing them. Seeing you—” Harry swallowed hard, hoping Draco felt a tiny bit like he did. “I realized, I missed it all. Yeah, people are going to ask me stuff and be shocked when they find out I’m gay, but I’m an adult. I have the ability to say, _I’d rather not._ Or _Yes, please_.”

Harry looked down at their hands—they felt right together. He slipped his fingers between Draco’s, entwining them. He thought—he hoped—he heard a tiny sigh.

Home. Sometimes it wasn’t a house. Sometimes it was people. Or a person.

Harry looked into Draco’s eyes. “Actually, I’d like to say yes please much more. What about you. Do you say yes, please?”

Draco stared at Harry. He didn’t want to get this wrong. He really, really didn’t. “What?”

Harry moved closer to Draco, crowding into his space. “I was thinking that a good way to edge back into Wizarding society would be to be seen socially. Would you like to go to dinner with me?”

Draco couldn’t speak. This was Potter. Harry. Wanting to be seen with him. Draco opened his mouth, but he couldn’t force any of thoughts swirling in his brain into words.

“See,” Harry said, his smile a smidge dimmer. “This is where you say, ‘yes please.’ Let’s try again. Would you like to go to dinner?”

Harry swallowed hard. Had he misread this completely? He took a step back from Draco, before he could mortify himself further.

Draco grabbed Harry’s wrist, holding him right up close. “Yes, please,” Draco stammered, his smile shy but genuine. “Yes, I would like to.”

“Brilliant. I took you away from your holiday dinner. Maybe, if you’re still hungry, I could trade on my name to get us a reservation now?”

“Yes, please.” Draco smiled full on. The crinkles around his eyes when he smiled made Harry’s heart flip. “But let me trade on _my_ name to get us a table at _Gigi’s_.”

Harry had no idea what _Gigi’s_ was, but he thought he was supposed to be impressed.

“ _Gigi’s_ is the hottest restaurant around. Goyle’s wife Giselle studied at the best culinary schools in France before she fell for him. No accounting for taste.”

“None at all,” Harry agreed, thinking not of the Goyles and their restaurant.

“Shall we?” Draco held out his elbow; side-along apparition would be easier than Flooing.

Before Harry took Draco’s arm, he said, “You took a big chance looking for me, that I would even talk to you. Why?”

“Some things are worth taking a leap of faith for,” Draco said, but meant much more.

“I was hoping you would say that.” Harry cupped Draco face, his thumbs stroking the sharp cheekbones. He hoped his intention was clear.

Draco didn’t back away from Harry. He wasn’t even sure he breathed until Harry’s lips brushed his. “Yes, please,” Draco murmured.

The kiss was heavy with promise, the exploration of a friendship. And a knee-buckling wave of desire.

Harry broke away, lightheaded from the need to breathe. Or maybe just from being so close to Draco. He rested his forehead against Draco’s, not yet willing to be farther away.

“Do you know we’ve known each other more than half our lives,” Draco said, kissing the corner of Harry’s lips. “Perhaps we were always heading for this.”

Harry smiled and touched his nose to Draco’s. The cinnamon-citrus scent was stronger now. Harry wanted to explore Draco’s body, cataloging all of the places he found the scent. He tilted his head and kissed Draco again, turning it deeper, hotter.

“We could skip the restaurant.” Harry’s tongue tasted Draco on his lips. It was a short fall to thoughts of what else he’d like to taste on his lips.

“Dinner first.” Draco’s breathing was heavy. They needed to stop, because if they didn’t, Draco knew he would not be able to control himself. “If you’re going to be seen, let’s do it when people are filled with good will and too much Christmas spirits.”

Harry kissed Draco again as he slid his hand down Draco’s hip, his thumb stroking Draco’s stomach.

“But after dinner?” Draco breathed the words, as Harry’s thumb slipped closer to Draco’s zipper. “Dessert at yours?”

“Yes,” Harry said, his voice thick with want. “Yes, please.”

**~~~ one year later ~~~**

The wind swirled the tiny snowflakes around the wooden benches and covered the leaves that lay on the ground behind 12 Grimmauld Place since autumn. Harry pulled the curtain back from the window to watch the snow waltz in lazy circles to the Christmas song he listened to.

The WBBC weatherman predicted a scant few centimetres, but they were already beyond that. With the temperature below zero at 11pm, the kids living rough were in greater danger than usual¬¬, and it would only get colder tonight. Harry’s stomach fell as he pulled the curtain back over the frosted panes of glass. It didn’t matter to him that it was Christmas Eve, and maybe a warm blanket to a kid with nothing was more important than a glass of eggnog and snuggling on the couch.

He slipped his feet into work boots (with an impervious charm to keep the cold out) and his warmest overcoat. He pulled the last dozen blankets from his closet with a sigh. A dozen blankets was nothing, but still. Better than nothing.

“We’ll need to ask Molly if she has any other friends who knit,” Draco said, coming up behind Harry and slipping his arms around his waist. He kissed a spot on the back of Harry’s neck where the scarf didn’t quite meet the coat’s collar.

“Thanks for spending our one-year anniversary handing out blankets.” Harry turned in Draco’s arms and nuzzled under Draco’s hand-knit scarf to kiss his neck. “I love you,” Harry said, looking into Draco’s eyes.

Harry’s green eyes. They got Draco every time. “Listen, Potter,” Draco said, sounding as tough as a totally besotted man could sound. “I did have a better offer. But y’know. What could I do? _The Chosen One_ chose me.”

“Yeah. And you chose me back.”


End file.
